


Gold in the air of summer

by Lady_Michiru



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Michiru/pseuds/Lady_Michiru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamada thinks he knows what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold in the air of summer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minaro](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Minaro), [thunderylee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/gifts).
  * A translation of [Oro en el aire del verano](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/32098) by Lady_Michiru. 



> Ryosa菇 and 3232啦啦啦 translated this fic to Chinese language *u*. You can read it [here at Weibo](http://weibo.com/p/1001603802640126457649).

Yamada is never happy with himself. He does his best and works as hard as he can but, in spite of the long additional rehearsal hours, of all the time he spends home alone, practicing dance routines and facial expressions, truth is, he always finds something to criticize, something that he has to force out, something that is not good enough.

"Don't overwork yourself too much, ok?” Yuto's smile is blinding as he hands him a bottle of icy, delicious water.

Yamada's breathing is so labored, that his "Thank you" gets lost in between his panting as Yuto makes his way towards the exit. Sweat soaks through Yamada's hair, his clothes, it runs down his neck... just one sip into it, he knows that hydration was what he needed the most at the moment.

Yuto… is something indescribable. He's much more than what the lights, sequins and feathers have made of him. He works hard too, but Yamada feels that it is different somehow, as if Yuto just focus on the things he loves and that makes him a better idol. It's that spontaneity that Yamada secretly envies. Just a bit.

Everybody in Johnny's wants to be a pirate, or Michael Jackson; Yamada just wants to be good at what he does. He wants to be a superstar and maybe, if possible, to be important to Yuto.

 

***

Yuto's moles are hypnotizing; they create a sinuous road from one of his eyes to his neck that Yamada wants follow endlessly. Sometimes, Yamada feels he's getting lost in them, in the desire to connect them until they make up something, to somehow mark the space that separates them, to touch the skin that sports them and find out if it really is as smooth as it looks.

"What is it?" Yuto asks, somewhere between mild irritation and amusement. It's the fifth time Yamada stands staring silently at him.

"You have something..." says Yamada vaguely, reaching out his hand and standing a little on his tiptoes, because it has been a while since Yuto passed him in height.

Yuto obediently tilts his head, exposing his neck for Yamada to clean anything that he sees there, and Yamada feels a little guilty for wanting to do just the opposite.

It turns out Yuto's skin is as smooth as it looks; it's also warm and a little wet from practice and the never-ending heat of the rehearsal room. His pulse beats steadily under Yamada's fingers and he swallows sharply, trying to hold his breath, to slow down his own heart, to make this look normal even if now he knows it's not.

 

***

Chinen is convenient. He is ambitious and smart, and he knows how to let people hug him and how to look at them just right for the camera to make the wrong assumptions it pleases. At some point in Yamada's desperation, jealousy seemed a good idea to force a reaction out of Yuto, but until now all he has gotten is a ruffle of his hair and a smile from him. Yamada wants to scream.

"Ryosuke... I think we need to talk." It's Chinen, looking a little awkward, as if he really was fifteen years old and not the immortal demon spawn that he really is.

It's pretty unusual that Chinen -who never particularly gives a damn about knowing anything about anyone- noticed everything before Yamada’s best friend.

"Why don't you simply tell him?"

Yamada attacks him mercilessly with a pillow, because Chinen is an idiot and doesn't understand anything, just like Yamada.

 

***

Yamada lies on his back, on the floor, his arms and legs stretched out to maximize the cold he gets from the floor in all of his body. Outside the summer roars in full bloom, and Yuto's stuffed room seems to withhold the heat and multiply it.

Yuto is sitting on the couch, lazily strumming his guitar, and Yamada can swear Yuto looks at him more than once, out of the corner of his eye, with that strange gleam that makes Yamada think that yes, this is it, that Yuto will finally tell him something.

The chords, sometimes melodic sometimes dissonant, keep painting the air with strange colors, and they are the only thing that can be heard for hours, and hours.

It would be so easy to get up, to tear the guitar from Yuto's hands and make those long, long fingers thread into his hair; to make Yuto understand the point of locked doors and eternal silences. But, for some reason, all Yamada does is stay on his back, looking at the ceiling, without saying or doing anything at all.

 

***

Yamada is a little tired of sharing his best friend.

If he is honest with himself, and is as fair as he can be, Yuto gives him plenty of attention and time. It's just that at some strange turn of his life 'plenty' no longer meant 'enough', best friend stopped encompassing exactly what Yuto really was to him and 'everything else' became an endless list of things that took away from him the idyllic rapture Yuto always had devoted to him.

Yuto always seems enthralled by something -bugs, cameras, anything else; anybody else. And as he watches the utmost focus and passion in Yuto as he plays the drums, Yamada feels a childish whim to go and burn the drum set, to see if Yuto looks at him in that same way then.

 

***

The drum set lies silently in the shadows of the deserted rehearsal room, feigning innocence in a way Yamada finds almost cheeky. And it's sad enough to be jealous of a damned *drum set*, but there's nothing he can do about it.

He sits on the bench, overcome by a sinister impulse, because it makes a lot of sense to feel closer to Yuto by sitting on an object that Yuto clearly wants more than he wants him.

The drumsticks lie conveniently over the snare drum, and Yamada picks them up before even thinking about it, mercilessly hitting the cymbals with them.

It's kind of difficult to get any sort of rhythm going, Yamada realizes, and how does Yuto makes this seem so effortless is beyond Yamada's comprehension. But Yuto is like that. Yamada, on the other hand, randomly strikes the different drums, hits the cymbals once or twice, realizing he hasn't spent an entire minute in these endeavors and he's already sweating.

"You are doing it wrong," someone admonishes, amused, from behind him.

The shock prevents Yamada from even laughing at the way Yuto doesn't need to raise his voice to make himself be heard over the noise Yamada is making. He stands paralyzed, one arm in the air waving a drumstick and the other resting over the snare drum. Only the lasting reverberations fill the air.

"I thought I was alone." Yamada doesn't turn around. A strange kind of guilt invades him, freezing all of his movements.

Yuto comes near him without a word and circles his arms nonchalantly around him.

"You are holding the drumsticks the wrong way," Yuto tells him, speaking directly into his ear and shifting the fingers on one of Yamada's hand to show him the correct grip. Then, Yuto's hands move to grab both of Yamada's wrists. "Like this, they have to be parallel to the snare drum. You have to let them drop on their own, take advantage of the bouncing... Relax!" Yuto encourages, laughing softly.

Yamada wonders if Yuto really believes that relaxing is possible, if he really can't tell the effect he is having on him. He tries to calm down, to forget the way the laughter in his ear had made a million goose bumps break all over him; he takes a deep breath and ignores the smell of Yuto all around him, sweet and intoxicating.

"Now you just need to get the bass drum going... hmm... let me adjust this thing here..." Yuto's hands leave Yamada's wrists to fiddle with something on the bench, while Yamada struggles to remain still, to not move even a millimeter toward Yuto's warmth.

He suddenly feels that he is sinking a little, the seat getting low enough for his foot to reach the pedal, which leaves Yuto folded in a strange way, behind and over him, with Yamada's head resting on his chest. But then Yuto leans forward, and one of his hands slides down the exterior of one Yamada's thighs instead of going back to his wrist, making Yamada grit his teeth and curse all the gods in the universe for laughing at his expense this way, until the torture stops and Yuto's hand rests on his knee.

"Step on the pedal, but not too hard because you can hurt your knee..." Yuto advises, leaning further forward and stroking said knee for emphasis. The new position leaves Yuto's mouth inches away from his ear again.

It's officially too much.

"Enough," Yamada manages to say, surprised at his own voice, low and rough. His heart beats wildly in his throat, and by the way it burns, he would bet that what runs through his veins is acid. The silence is heavy and it seems endless when the only measurement he has is his pulse, accelerated to ridiculous levels, as if he had run wildly around Tokyo Dome. Twice. "Yuto…" His voice sounds like a threat while he tries to free himself, upset and a little panicked.

The answer is dry, overwhelming, and it presents itself in the form of Yuto's arms closing around his shoulders, pulling Yamada to him. But what really stops Yamada from trying to run away is the slight tremor of Yuto's body against his.

"Don't go."

He feels Yuto's lips softly grazing the skin behind his ear before Yuto softly buries his face on his hair, inhaling deeply; and Yamada closes his eyes, breathes hard, because he would never forgive himself if he breaks down crying in a moment like this.

Not even the drumsticks clacking as they fall to the floor manage to disturb the peace that invades his whole being as he grasps Yuto's hands into his, squeezing them firmly over his heart.

 

***

The early autumn sun sneaks through the curtains of the room, bouncing lazily among the dozens of musical instruments, books, magazines, and thousands of things that line up on the walls and clutter up most of the floor, making the little droplets of sweat in Yuto's forehead shine.

Yamada's fingers tangle in the wet strands of hair that stick to Yuto's neck and for a second he is proud; he has never seen Yuto sweat this much unless he is at the drums, and he feels a childish satisfaction at having defeated his opponent. The next moment, however, Yuto's hips move against him at a strange angle and every thought gets dissolved in the endless scintillation of thousand of colors behind his eyes.

 

***

Later, much later, he lies in Yuto's bed gasping for breath, getting lost in the miles and miles of white moist skin before him which have the sole purpose of being roamed by his fingers, while Yuto's lips kiss his forehead, his eyelids and temples, without ever seeming to have enough.

The light of the sun abandoned them awhile ago and Yuto's smile is the only thing that lights up the world, making it shine.

"Yama-chan," Yuto sighs against his ear, holding him tight.

After all the time he has spent waiting for Yuto to say something, it's almost ridiculous that what he really wanted, what he really needed, were those words, spoken just that way.

"Idiot," whispers Yamada in response, but he's not sure to whom it's directed.

And Yuto's soft laughter makes everything all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Minaro, because the drumset was her idea. Eternal thanks to Ri, that edited this and basically made this translation happen by loving the Spanish version of this *_*
> 
> I shamelessly stole the title from a Kings of Convenience's song. It doesn't have anything to do with the fic, but it is a really nice song.


End file.
